


The Moment You've Been Waiting For

by Face_of_Poe



Series: The Element of Surprise [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, M/M, Rank Disparity, Relationship Negotiation, Tension, emerging D/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: The slow, inevitable conclusion of a wholly silent six-month mutual seduction, and half the officer corps in the room when it happened.





	The Moment You've Been Waiting For

**Author's Note:**

> [spit, patrol, finicky, primal]
> 
> (set 6 months after _Stalemate_ and probably 6 months or so before _The Truth is in Your Face_ )

Hamilton’s presence in Washington’s quarters could be explained away, were anyone to discover he’d been there.

The reverse was not precisely true. Questions would abound if anyone caught him paying a late-night visit to a junior subordinate officer and yet, here he was, dodging the ship security patrols and feeling like a first-year cadet sneaking into the dorm past curfew.

Hamilton hadn’t understood the insistence. Felt the natural order of things dictated _he_ come to Washington, and the captain couldn’t decide if it bemused or worried him that Hamilton seemed not at all interested in drawing a line between an illicit liaison that shouldn’t be happening and reporting to a senior officer for any other run-of-the-mill assignment.

But command had its privileges, and if Washington was to be damned, he would insist on taking the first step on Hamilton’s turf, however shallow the gesture on a ship he commands. Be the one to be kicked out, if things went awry, or to sneak out if they didn’t.

The door slides open for him, as promised. He enters quickly, lets it slide shut again, and then taps at the console on the wall to lock it. When he turns, he finds Hamilton sitting at the desk to his right. Watchful, assessing; twisting a stylus absently between his fingers. “So, you found the place okay?”

No break from the commander’s wry wit tonight then. Six months on, and Washington believes it to be part armor, part mask from a man little-inclined to discuss his background, personal matters.

The mystery has only added to the magnetism, and Washington hates himself for it.

“Drink?” Hamilton offers drily when his teasing question goes unanswered.

“We had enough in Ten Forward, wouldn’t you say?”

A quiet game of chess. The slow, inevitable conclusion of a wholly silent six-month mutual seduction, and half the officer corps in the room when it happened.

Except here, now – alone – Washington catches the first cracks in the mask. Watches Hamilton’s fidgeting fingers drop the stylus and begin straightening his already pristine desktop, before he abruptly rises and leads the way through to the connecting bedroom.

Washington follows, cautious. More uncertain now than when he’d finally surrendered to that unshakeable _want_ that had spent months clamoring to get out. He finds Hamilton again tidying an immaculate space. Smoothing out invisible creases with a finicky sort of restless energy that Washington is hard-pressed to identify.

“Alexander?”

He stops all at once and turns to face Washington head-on. “Do you think we’d be here today if it weren’t for what happened before?”

“No.” He doesn’t know if that’s the right answer, but it is the truth.

“I don’t want you to think this is about… your command, or a _power_ thing, or -”

“I don’t think that.” Defiance gleams bright in Hamilton’s eyes; Washington wants to smooth away the furrow creasing his forehead. “You’re allowed to _want_ for your own sake.”

Washington is _not_ , is the thing. He’s spent six months wrestling with his better angels and been found wanting, but he’s here, now, and slowly reaching a hand to curl gently along Hamilton’s jaw line so he can tip his head back and take his mouth in a slow and steady kiss.

It’s familiar, and not. Reserved in a way neither of them had bothered with during a single night of unrestrained passion between two strangers who were never supposed to see one another again. Two days before Washington set out with the _Duquesne_. And if he’s done the math correctly, a similarly short time before Hamilton took up his first assignment as a commissioned ensign, some remote scientific posting in the Troyl system according to his file.

So he kisses him until some of that old, unbridled passion starts to emerge. Pulls back, wipes their mingled spit from his mouth and chin, and brushes his thumb against a high cheekbone. “Is this okay?”

“Okay,” Hamilton mutters, “and about five years late.”

His arms wrap around Washington’s waist, surprisingly strong for his lithe build, and tug him towards the bed. Moment of uncertainty shuffled aside, out of sight and apparently already out of mind, in favor of scratching a six-months-old itch.

Washington can’t help but laugh. “Slow down.”

But he doesn’t. Or can’t. Reticence gives way to something desperate, hands pulling at Washington’s waist, Hamilton’s mouth seeking his out with greedy purpose.

“Alexander.” The hands change tack, fumbling instead with the fastenings on Washington’s jacket and he reaches up and seizes Hamilton by the wrists and forces his arms back down to his sides. “ _Slow. Down_.”

Hamilton wriggles his arms, tests Washington’s grip. Instinctively, he tightens his hold before his better sense takes over and he releases him all at once, wondering if he hasn’t just doomed this entire endeavor to failure.

But Hamilton just stands there, impossibly still save the quick heave of his chest. A primal need in his wide eyes, pupils blown.

He flexes his hands, still down by his sides, and lets his head tip back just a little further.

Baring his throat like a silent invitation.


End file.
